Conjunctions
by ChristineX
Summary: Being the true recounting of Professor Aurora Sinistra's time at Hogwarts, with particular emphasis on the events leading up to the final confrontation with the Dark Lord, as well as her connection with a certain Severus Snape...
1. Chapter 1

So I'm only a week away from the end of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and of course instead of being a good little camper and working on my original novel, I had to go start a new HP story! Blame it on the release of Deathly Hallows - I've got the bug again, and bad. Besides, I'd been away from this world for too long, and I missed it. This prologue is, by its nature, somewhat short, but I do have Chapter 1 completed and will post it a little later in the week. As always, reviews are much welcomed!

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Prologue

In writing my memoirs I am faced at once with a conundrum. Many of the events that brought us all to the final confrontation with He Who Must Not Be Named did not involve me directly — I may have been a member of the Hogwarts staff, but a good number of us were, for lack of a better term, kept quite in the dark as to Albus Dumbledore's plans; as should be, for the more who are involved in a matter of secrecy, the greater the chance that one of them should let something slip. Also, as the Astronomy professor, I was even more divorced from certain incidents. My tower was high, my hours irregular due to the nature of the subject I taught. But I was there for enough of it, and indeed, as those last terrible hours approached, I perhaps was privy to more information than many would ever have guessed. So if it seems I do not give full weight to some events that were highly significant, it is because those tales have already been told by others who were present, who have far more right than I to describe them.

As I began to set down these recollections, I realized the temptation existed to paint myself in a more flattering light, to present my actions as always good and noble. I did my best to avoid this temptation. If at times I perhaps seem foolish or hasty or simply lacking in judgment, then so be it.

Extraordinary times call for extraordinary people, but I never thought of myself as particularly extraordinary. A gifted witch, of course, but there were others in my class just as talented. It might be said that I stood out by virtue of a strong stubborn streak, although there are many (including my own mother), who would call that no virtue at all.

As may be. I am still unsure as to what particular qualities Albus Dumbledore saw in me, or why he would select someone woefully lacking in years or experience to be his new Astronomy professor. Dumbledore's motivations were often inscrutable, but his madness proved to be quite methodical when looked upon with the clear lenses of hindsight.

I was not the youngest professor ever - that honor fell to Severus Snape, although he had been a member of Hogwarts' staff for some years before I began my tenure there. Still, twenty-three was young enough, especially since, as my mother pointed out, I had done little enough with my life up until then.

"Off in the wilds of Scotland," she said on the day of my final visit with her before I departed to take up my new position. She gave me a disapproving look as she bent forward to pick up her teacup. Even the heavy brocade curtains in her drawing room seemed stiff with disapproval. "With utterly no prospects at all!"

By "prospects," she meant prospective husbands. I couldn't bring myself to feel angry with her over her repeated attempts to see me properly settled. With my older brother Augustus dead in the fight against He Who Must Not Be Named, she saw me now as the last hope of preserving the Sinistra line.

"Well," I said, "there's always Professor Snape."

I'd made the comment knowing that her response would be less than enthusiastic. As always, she didn't disappoint.

"Severus Snape!" she retorted. Her tone fairly dripped contempt. "An upstart out of nowhere. A Death Eater!"

"That's never been proven," I replied. I took a bite of my watercress sandwich, then added, "Surely you don't think Professor Dumbledore would allow a follower of the Dark Lord to teach impressionable young children?"

Her face reflected a war between her respect for the Headmaster and her contempt for Professor Snape. Respect apparently won out, for she said, "I suppose not. But really, Aurora, I think it in quite bad taste for you to even jest about such things. Surely you can do much better than Severus Snape."

I began to regret my off-hand remark. "If you say so. At any rate, I'm certain Professor Dumbledore would be rather alarmed if he knew I was more concerned with finding a husband than teaching astronomy."

"Those pursuits are not mutually exclusive," she replied, but I thought I detected a hint of resignation in her tone.

From there she turned the conversation to my wardrobe, which she considered inadequate to both my new position at Hogwarts and my status as the last scion of the Sinistra family. I didn't bother to argue with her; if I'd learned nothing else from Boudicca Sinistra, it was to choose my battles.

At the time I'd had no idea that the sorts of battles I'd one day face would be quite different.


	2. Ill Met

Thank you for your reviews on the prologue - here's something with a bit more meat to it. And to everyone who celebrates it, happy Thanksgiving! Chapter Two is about halfway written, but I probably won't be able to finish it until the end of the next week,

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One: Ill Met

As fate would have it, Professor Snape was the first of my new colleagues I encountered when I arrived at Hogwarts. The thestral-drawn carriage (for I, having seen my own brother die of his injuries, was a member of that grim club which could see the unearthly beasts) had just deposited me and my trunks in the courtyard when the Potions master swept past, black robes swirling behind him in a cloud almost as thunderous as the one that weighed his brow.

Normally I would have said nothing and let him go on his way. But I was tired and out of sorts and feeling just a bit trepidatious at the thought of the students I would have to face the day after next. Surely a simple greeting wouldn't be too much of a presumption.

"Professor!" I called out.

He did stop. However, he turned his head the barest amount necessary to get me in his line of sight. "What?"

I summoned what I privately thought of as my "company" smile, the one I put on when I had to entertain my mother's friends or the parade of young men she thought suitable but whom I found to be hopelessly dull. I extended a hand. "Good day, Professor. I am Aurora Sinistra, the new Astronomy professor."

The cold black eyes surveyed me for the briefest possible second. "And what of it?"

Well, I'd heard he was brusque and ill-tempered and lacking in most, if not all, of the social graces. Still, his response to my greeting took me aback for a second. Then I lifted my chin and replied, "Perhaps nothing. At least now you have a face to put to the name, should we pass in the corridors or encounter one another in the dining hall. Good day."

Without bothering to wait for a response, I pulled out my wand, murmured, "_Wingardium leviosa!_" under my breath, and headed off toward the Astronomy Tower as my two trunks followed in my wake like a pair of obedient krups. I knew better than to look over my shoulder, but somehow I got the impression that Severus Snape remained where he was for a long moment and watched until I had disappeared inside the building.

It was not, perhaps, the most auspicious of meetings.

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As it turned out, our paths crossed seldom enough. An Astronomy professor, for reasons both obvious and practical, cannot keep quite the same hours as the rest of the Hogwarts faculty. My classes were held at night, and sometimes far along into the early-morning hours should the particular movements of the stars require observation at those times. I was rarely in bed before dawn, so of course I did not have breakfast with everyone else. No, the house-elves brought me a light meal early in the afternoon to break my fast. I did usually take my supper along with everyone else in the Great Hall, but whether by accident or design, Severus Snape always managed to be seated on the side of the table opposite from me.

Despite his aloofness (or perhaps because of it), I did manage to make friends with the other members of the faculty. Professor McGonagall was always there to offer a ready word of advice and support. Pomona Sprout and I struck up a rather incongruous friendship, but there is more correlation between the phases of the moon and the movements of the stars and the growing cycles of the plant world than one might imagine, and we had some lively discussions on the subject. The Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, quite latched on to me after she discovered I had taken my degree at Oxford.

"It's quite unusual, isn't it?" she asked one evening, not long after the term had begun. "For a witch to also attend a Muggle university?"

"Unusual, but not unprecedented," I replied.

It being a Friday night, I had no classes to teach. We sat at the top of my tower (I already thought of it as such, even though I had only been in residence at Hogwarts for a scant month). Already the air was sharp with the promise of winter's chill. Charity and I, however, were well-braced against the October air by our heavy cloaks and a flask of firewhisky.

She poured another measure from the flask into a shot glass. "What made you decide to attend university?"

Although Charity and I had become quite close in a short period of time, I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her the absolute truth, that a good measure of my decision to attend Oxford had been born from a desire to irritate my mother. That sort of thing simply wasn't done, after all - to spend day after day rubbing elbows with Muggles, to waste one's time for a piece of paper which had absolutely no value in the wizarding world!

Another, deeper reason was the love I'd always had for the stars, for the intricate movements of the night sky. Although it was heresy to even think it, this was an area where Muggles dominated. No wizard had ever walked on the moon, or flown a broom so high he broke free of our world's orbit. Magic could do so many amazing things, but it could not do everything.

I had known better than to utter such sentiments aloud. I'd simply stated that I would attend Oxford, mother's blessing or no, and since I had inherited my portion of my father's fortune upon graduation from Hogwarts, there was very little she could do to stop me. Save grumble about how I was wasting my time, and how no one in the wizarding world gave two figs about how many Muggle degrees I might earn.

To be sure, once I had that degree, I found she was right. Although I could have lived idly enough on my inheritance, it was not in my nature to do nothing. I found little that was suitable to my talents, however, so a few months after graduation I took on the thankless job of writing the astrology column for the _Daily Prophet_. This would have horrified her even further, save that at least it was a position on a wizarding paper. It could have been worse, she supposed. I could have been stuck up on a Scottish crag with a telescope and a Muggle graduate student with roving hands.

Still, the _Prophet_ position bored me within a month. When I heard of the opening at Hogwarts, I jumped at it. I knew it was a long shot - after all, at that point I was barely twenty-three, with no teaching experience. All I did have was very high scores on my NEWTs, along with a useless (until then, at any rate) degree in astronomy. But Dumbledore saw something in me apparently no one else had, and here I was.

I told Charity as much, and added, "One often hears of Muggles who wish they could practice magic. I suppose it's not as often one encounters a witch who wishes she could be a scientist."

To her credit, she didn't laugh at me. Instead, she took a contemplative sip of her firewhisky, then said, "I'd never really thought of it that way. Merlin knows I have a difficult time convincing some elements among my students that Muggle Studies is a valid subject. They think it quite beneath them."

"Silly," I murmured. I knew to whom she referred - those students who prided themselves on the purity of their blood, of lineages that could be traced back to the days of the Founders. Of course one should take pride in one's family, but to think that pure blood equaled superior magical ability was foolish. Many of my former classmates who had possessed the strongest magical ability were the product of mixed marriages.

Even my own family was not free of Muggle blood, however much my mother liked to tout the nobility of the Sinistra line. That was even sillier in a way, since of course she had married into the family. She was from a long line of purebloods herself, but the Sinistra family owed the majority of its fortune and not a little of its standing in society to the fact that my great-great-grandmother had been the daughter of a Count.

"And a Beauty," my mother had always added.

Capital letters or no, there had been no denying that fact. Great-great-grandmamma's portrait still hung in our town house in London, and as a child I used to spend a great deal of time staring up into her painted features and attempting to see something of my own face there. The cloud of dark hair, yes, and the straight nose and full mouth. But my eyes were an odd amberish hazel instead of deep blue, and I lacked something of her height. Still, the resemblance was strong, even several generations later.

"I think it would serve them well to spend some time in the Muggle world," I said, and sipped at my own glass of firewhisky. It left a trail of scorching heat right through my midsection, but the warmth was welcome, necessary. I cleared my throat. "Rather like some of the exchange students I met at Oxford. I sometimes get the feeling that we are too closed in on ourselves, too bound by tradition."

The traitorous thought had sometimes come to me, back in the days before He Who Must Not Be Named was vanquished, that perhaps the best solution to the wizarding world's problem would be a few carefully placed mortar rounds in the Dark Lord's vicinity. Or, failing that, a few shots of nerve gas. I'd known better than to suggest such things aloud, but the thoughts had nagged at me over the years. Would my brother still be alive if the wizards who fought the Dark Lord had scrupled to use a few Muggle weapons in their war?

"Quite the revolutionary, aren't you?" These was no malice in Charity's words, and I saw a flash of her teeth in the darkness as she grinned. "Ah, well, after a few years here you'll be quite worn down. No crusading, just marking papers and administering tests. And the Christmas and summer holidays to look forward to, of course."

"So jaded?" I asked. "I thought you'd only been here three years."

"As I said, after a few years you'll know which traditions can't be meddled with. And while I might privately agree that some of these spoiled brats would do well to spend a month or so with no magic and no brooms and no house-elves to bring their meals, I certainly know better than to say such a thing aloud - especially if there's any chance it might get back to the Regents!"

Although there was an undercurrent of rueful amusement under her words, I could tell Charity was less than thrilled with the situation.

"No wonder Professor Snape is so bitter," I remarked.

That comment elicited a sharp laugh. "No doubt he'd tell you there would be no point in sending any of these 'dunderheads' off to live with Muggles, since he seems to be of the belief that each batch of students is worse than the last. And I can't say as he has any great opinion of Muggles, either, even if he is half-blood himself."

"Really?" I would never admit it to Charity, but over the last month I'd begun to develop an unhealthy fascination with the Potions master. Nothing romantic, of course - my taste did not run to sallow, hook-nosed men without a polite word for anyone - but rather a sort of morbid curiosity as to why he seemed to be in such a black mood all the time, and why on earth Albus Dumbledore would have ever hired someone so unsuited to working with children for a position that required he be surrounded by them at all times.

"That's what I heard." Charity had her hood pulled up, covering her graying curls. All I could really see in the darkness was the tip of her nose. She stared up at the night sky. No stars for us tonight; a heavy blanket of clouds hid the constellations, although a faint gibbous moon wavered in and out of existence whenever the cloud cover momentarily thinned. "Not the sort of thing he'd wish to advertise, I would imagine." Then she shifted so she faced me. "I would think you'd know something about it - weren't you here about the same time he was?"

I shook my head. "Only very approximately. I was a first year when he was a seventh. There wasn't a great deal of overlap. I think I may have a hazy memory of a skinny boy with black hair who even then seemed to go about in a perpetual storm cloud."

"No sweetness and light for dear Severus, that's for certain." Another flash of white teeth as the moon broke from the clouds for a few seconds. Then she shifted, and said, "Ow…this cold stone is getting too much for my bones, even with the firewhisky. Shall we take the convo inside?"

The cold didn't bother me; I was used to long nights spent in chilly observation of the stars. But there was no point in staying out here, especially when we could finish our chat in front of the fire in my sitting room. "Of course," I replied, and stood.

We made our way down to the little parlor that already felt much more like home to me than the cold grandeur of my family's town house in London. The conversation drifted to other matters - who among our current crop of first years showed the most promise, a bit of good-natured quibbling over the prospects of our House Quidditch teams. Charity was a Hufflepuff and I a Ravenclaw, but we tried to not let that get in the way of our friendship. At length she bade me goodnight and departed.

I sat in front of the fire and watched the flames dance back and forth. I knew I should have been feeling mellow and contented. After all, I had just survived my first month of teaching. No one had come forth to denounce me as a fraud with absolutely no pedagogical experience. None of my students had caused me any real problems, although the Weasley twins had created a disturbance a few days earlier by enchanting the little Muggle-made model of the solar system on my desk and making the planets spin overhead. I had quite enjoyed the show as much as the students, but as I was supposed to be the one in charge, I docked them ten House points and tried to give them a stern talking-to about disrupting an important lesson.

It probably didn't do much good; Fred Weasley listened to my little lecture with an expression of exaggerated gravity, while George rested his chin on his hands and regarded me with limpid brown eyes. I believe he had decided to amuse himself by fancying some sort of crush on me.

My mother had warned me about such things - "some of those boys will be barely six years younger than you!" - but in George's case I was fairly certain he didn't really have a crush. He probably just wanted to see if, by pretending to have one, he could throw me off my stride.

At any rate, the incident was only one amusing little interlude in a month that had slipped quietly past with me hardly noticing it. Professor Dumbledore seemed pleased enough with my work. I hadn't been fired yet, and that was something. My fellow staff members, save one, had been most welcoming. So why this sudden feeling of malaise?

I could attribute it to the firewhisky, but my Oxford days had taught me a thing or two about drinking. Not that I would have an opportunity to put it to the test, but I felt fairly confident I could drink most of my fellow Hogwarts faculty under the table if necessary.

Loneliness creeps up at the oddest times. I had known for quite some time how to keep it at bay - the half-read book, the pile of star charts on my desk, the enchanted phonograph and stack of old wax records that accompanied it. But none of that seemed adequate to my current state of mind.

I had always had a great deal of alone time as a child. My older brother Augustus was eight years my senior, and so for a large chunk of my youth he had been off at Hogwarts. But I'd never felt truly alone until he had been killed two days before my eleventh birthday…two days before I was supposed to leave home and come to school. That had been out of the question, of course. I stayed in London for the funeral and came to Hogwarts three weeks later than everyone else. My mother thought it best, even though at the time I was terrified by the prospect of being separated from the only member of my immediate family I had left. But she said the wizarding school seemed the safest place for me, and there I would be surrounded by other children, by new friends and other distractions.

But I never forgot the ringing silence of my home when I returned for the winter holidays that first year, the empty room where Augustus had once slept. My mother, who had always been young and beautiful to me, seemed to have aged ten years in those few months. And the house where I was born had become an alien place.

The silence of my chambers seemed to press against my ears. I set my empty shot glass down on the little carved table beside my favorite armchair, the one made of soft faded brocade and wonderful down-filled cushions. Then I turned and left the room.

Stairs, so many stairs. I knew as soon as I had taken up residence here that I had no need to worry about the rich meals Hogwarts' house-elves provided - I would certainly work off the effects of that food just going to and from my chambers at the top of the Astronomy Tower. The wind had strengthened. I could feel it tugging at my loose hair. Most of the time I pulled it back into a tight bun that I hoped enhanced my professorial appearance, but I had taken it down earlier since I would be teaching no classes tonight.

It was quite late, perhaps half-past midnight. My normal working hours, of course, but Hogwarts slumbered around me. No yawning first years to herd up into the tower for their Astronomy lesson. I might have been the only living being in the place as I made my way through the corridor that led to the dining hall.

Something whooshed overhead with a discordant jangle. Sharp fingers caught in my hair and tugged. Hard.

I let out a little screech. Of course I didn't have my wand with me, but I didn't need it for simple spells. "_Lumos!_" I cried.

A little ball of blue-white light danced off my fingertip. In the shadows near the ceiling I saw a quickly flitting shadow that resolved itself into the shape of a small man. He gave me an impudent grin and flipped upside-down, then stuck out his tongue.

"Damn you, Peeves," I snapped. "I nearly had a coronary."

"Aurora Coronary," he agreed, then turned himself right-side up. "What are we up to, Aurora Coronary? Meeting someone?"

"Hardly," I said, with as much affronted dignity as I could muster.

A month wasn't nearly enough time to get used to Peeves all over again. I'd only had a few run-ins with him during my school days, but I'd rather hoped he would treat me with a modicum of respect now that I was a professor. Thank goodness I still wore a set of my good robes, even though my loose hair ruined the image somewhat.

I asked, "And why are you wandering the halls? Run out of beds to short-sheet?"

"That is so 1622," he retorted. "Silly Sinistra. Lost your way? Need a guide?" He performed a midair somersault, then launched himself onto a suit of armor that stood a few feet away. It rattled loudly, and I winced.

"No, thank you," I replied. "It has been only a month, but I do believe I can somehow manage to find my way back."

He jumped from the suit of armor to a display case filled with Quidditch trophies and hit the glass with a loud bang.

At this rate he would have the whole castle around our ears. "Peeves, that is quite enough. I am returning to my tower. I expect you to go to - " I paused. Did the poltergeist even have a permanent base? He had a habit of turning up in the oddest places, although, thankfully, never in my rooms at the top of the Astronomy Tower. I had no way of knowing whether that was because he had been forbidden by Professor Dumbledore to disturb the faculty in their own apartments, or whether Peeves was simply too lazy to go up that many flights of stairs. " - to wherever it is you sleep."

"Sleep?" Peeves screeched. The glass in the case rattled. "Silly, silly Sinistra. No sleep for the weary - or for poltergeists. But maybe I'll let you tuck me in. Just this once."

Oh, for heaven's sake. I knew now that any reply would only make the situation worse. Gathering the remains of my dignity, I turned and began to head back down the corridor, toward the stairs that led up to the Astronomy Tower.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps before a cold voice snapped, "What is going on here? Out of bed, after curfew?"

"Bad, bad Ravenclaw," Peeves taunted me, then leaped off the display case and clung to the ceiling. "Fifty points!"

Muttering a curse, I turned to find myself staring up into Severus Snape's harsh face. "I am not a student," I said, attempting to match the Potions master's chilly tones.

I supposed I could see where he might have mistaken me for a seventh year wandering the halls, perhaps on her way to an assignation in the Room of Requirement. I'd never participated in such activity, but I knew several girls in my year who did. In my simple black robes, with my hair falling down my back, I probably didn't present a very professional appearance.

Professor Snape paused, and continued to glare down into my face. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Professor Sinistra?"

"Precisely. I suppose I presented a tempting target to Peeves here, but I assure you that it is quite legal for me to be out and about at this hour, even if our resident poltergeist has issues with such activities."

In response Peeves stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry in my direction.

Professor Snape didn't bother to say anything. Instead, he lifted his wand and bit out a quick, "_Evanesco!_"

Peeves promptly disappeared. Snape secreted his wand somewhere inside his voluminous robes.

"I would suggest, _Professor_," there was no mistaking the sneer in his voice as he uttered my title, "that you perhaps not wander the hallways alone at night. If you have need of something, ask a house-elf to fetch it for you."

"You don't think I'm afraid of Peeves, do you?" I chuckled and hoped I sounded convincing. "Peeves used to pull the ribbons out of my hair. I assure you, Professor Snape, it would take a great deal more than one poltergeist to keep me from moving freely about the castle. It is my home now, too, you know."

His expression, if possible, became even more sour. "Be that as it may. I believe you have caused enough disruptions for one evening."

That remark was patently unfair, as it had been Peeves who had been doing all the disrupting. However, whatever mood of melancholy had driven me out of the Astronomy Towers and down into the main corridors of Hogwarts Castle had quite disappeared. Now, under Severus Snape's disapproving stare, I felt chastened, even though I knew I had done nothing wrong.

Still, I didn't want him to think he had gained the upper hand. I forced a sweet little smile onto my lips and said, "How lucky was I, Professor, that you happened along! For of course a simple Astronomy professor is quite incapable of handling a poltergeist! No doubt you think I need help tying my boot laces in the morning as well!"

And with that I flounced off, leaving him to stare after me. Perhaps I shouldn't have given my tongue free rein, but really, his disdainful attitude had quite set me off.

I mounted the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, still fuming. In that moment, it seemed quite clear to me that I would never have a civil relationship with Severus Snape.


	3. Enter the Trio

Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the next chapter posted, but here's hoping this will hold you for a little while!

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Two: Enter the Trio

My second year of teaching, Harry Potter came to Hogwarts.

His arrival created quite a stir, as one might well imagine. Everyone knew the story of the Boy Who Lived, the one person to ever survive a direct attack by He Who Must Not Be Named. Truly, there had been a great deal of speculation over the years as to exactly where the Potter boy was hidden. He had lived, but where? And with whom?

Well, it seemed that Albus Dumbledore had secreted the child away with his Muggle relations, where he could grow up in relative obscurity. Certainly no one had known anything of him until he turned up at Hogwarts.

I will admit to a great deal of curiosity about the boy. After all, he had survived what so many others had not. My own brother was a victim of the Dark Lord's perfidy, although not directly. It was one of He Who Must Not Be Named's Death Eaters who had struck the killing blow, although we would never know who. They wore masks for a reason.

Harry was a thin child, with a mop of unruly black hair and bright green eyes that even his thick-lensed glasses couldn't obscure. The Sorting Hat took its time with him, but at length he was placed in Gryffindor. No great surprise; both his parents had been in that House.

During that welcoming feast, I had somehow been seated next to Severus Snape. Although at first the grouping of the teaching staff at the high table hadn't made much sense, Charity had explained to me that Dumbledore switched out the seating arrangements at the teachers' table from year to year so that we might become better acquainted with one another.

I couldn't say I was overly pleased with my current situation. My relations with Professor Snape had been strained ever since that chance encounter in the main corridor almost a year earlier. I had done what I could to be civil, but he seemed disinclined to return the favor. So be it. After all, we had very little opportunity to interact. I was safely ensconced at the top of my tower, and he was buried somewhere in the dungeons.

But now I was acutely aware of him sitting next to me, of the grim lines of his jaw as he stared down at the Potter boy. My mother had tasked me over the years for what she considered to be an overactive imagination, but I didn't believe I was imagining the baleful look Professor Snape shot at Harry. There was something different about that black glare, something quite apart from Snape's usually obvious disdain for the students in his charge.

Then I wondered if I had been imagining things, as Severus pointedly turned away from me and began speaking to Professor Quirrell, who sat on his other side. I thought it a bit odd that Snape somehow managed to be civil (well, his own peculiar approximation of civil) to the man who had the job he wanted. It was quite the open secret around Hogwarts that Severus wanted the Dark Arts position, a position Dumbledore steadfastly refused to give him. I could see the reasoning - I didn't think I'd want to be in the position of explaining to anxious parents that the man who was teaching their children to defend themselves from the Dark Lord was a man who had once been a follower of that same dark wizard.

If I were Quirrell, I didn't think I'd feel entirely comfortable sitting next to a man who would be all too happy if I were out of the way. Especially considering the fact that the covetous Severus Snape also happened to be a master of the subtle art of potions and poisons. The Dark Arts professor, however, seemed relatively unconcerned, although, given the man's overall nervous disposition and general twitchiness, "unconcern" was a relative term.

As I was seated at the very end of the table, I had no one else with whom I could occupy myself in conversation. So I sat there and tried to fix a pleasant expression on my face, when in fact what I really wanted to do was get up and leave - possibly getting in a good tromping on Severus Snape's foot during the process. But that, of course, wouldn't do. However rude he might be, he was my senior in both years and experience, and a favorite of Dumbledore's, for some unfathomable reason.

Instead I tried to occupy myself with studying the fresh crop of first years. Naturally my attention was drawn to the table where Harry Potter sat. The previous year I had been more occupied with the Ravenclaw first years, since my curiosity had of course been directed at the students of my own House. But now I found my gaze inexorably pulled toward the cluster of new Gryffindors, to the lanky red-haired boy who sat next to Harry Potter, the girl with the wild tangle of bushy brown hair, the round-faced youth who somehow looked terrified to be there. I knew none of their names of course, save Harry's. I wondered if they would become friends, or whether the spurious acquaintance they appeared to have formed during their trip on the Express would last throughout their school days. I had Housemates who were still dear friends even almost fifteen years after we had first met. Of course, that initial magical trip on the Express had been denied me, because of the death of my brother.

As always, it hurt to think of Augustus, hurt to remember his promise and his energy and all the things he might have been but could never be, thanks to the Dark Lord. And in that moment it seemed as if a shadow passed over my vision, and I wondered how many of those bright and merry faces I saw before me would have their own futures taken away.

That was ridiculous. He Who Must Not Be Named had been vanquished. The wizarding world had been free of his evil for many years. So why now did I suddenly envision a world filled with terrible possibilities?

Perhaps I made some small sound. I couldn't be certain. But next to me Severus Snape paused, then asked, "Are you quite well, Professor?"

The question, uttered in tones of cool unconcern, brought me back to myself. I lifted the goblet of elf-made wine from its place next to my plate. "Quite well, Severus. Thank you for inquiring."

A line appeared between his brows as his perpetual scowl deepened. No doubt he didn't much care for me calling him by his first name, but since we were on equal footing as fellow faculty members, there was little he could do about it.

He made a small, disapproving sound, then turned back to Quirrell. I sighed and took a larger swallow of wine than perhaps was wise. Then again, it did seem as if it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Whatever hopes I might have had that the Boy Who Lived would be an exemplary student were fairly dashed over the next few weeks. His fame came from the circumstances of his survival and not, as far as I could tell, from any extraordinary personal attributes, although I did hear he had turned out to be quite the keen hand at Quidditch. Just what the wizarding world needed - another boy obsessed with Quidditch.

Goodness knows I had yet to find one obsessed with Astronomy.

They dragged themselves up to my tower every Wednesday at midnight, trying to stifle their yawns and not doing a very good job of it. All save the preternaturally alert and on-task Hermione Granger; she took furious notes, asked enough questions for at least three people, and generally gave every indication of being a raging over-achiever.

Not that I minded. Astronomy was a subject most students rather despised, since it veered a little too close to Muggle science for their taste. Also, it consisted mostly of hard facts and very little real magic. At times I wondered at the subject's inclusion in the curriculum, although, as I've stated before, the movements of the stars had their effects on magical flora and fauna. Still, it wasn't nearly as exciting and glamorous as Charms or Transfigurations, or even Potions. After all, none of my students were going to walk out of class with a shooting star in their pocket, although I hoped we would be able to get a good viewing of the Orionid meteor shower toward the end of the month. But that event, while it might get my pulse racing, probably wouldn't do much to excite my students. They would much rather be turning mice into snuffboxes or making incongruous objects float in mid-air. Even Hermione's dedication to Astronomy came more, I feared, from a desire to do well in all her subjects than any particular love of the science itself.

I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter. Teaching bored students a subject none of them gave a fig for was still better than writing (read: fabricating) Astrology columns for the _Daily Prophet_.

Wasn't it?

* * *

On a biting day in November, I dutifully trooped out with the rest of the faculty and students to the Quidditch pitch, even though in truth I cared very little for the game, and thought in general it caused so much disruption amongst the student body that it was a detriment more than anything else. However, I knew that if I were to voice such seditious sentiments I most certainly would claim Severus Snape's title of most hated professor, so I kept my thoughts to myself. Instead, I bundled up against the biting wind, put on my new smart hat, and hoped for the best.

One would never have guessed, from looking at the cheering crowds, that we'd had the annual Halloween feast interrupted by a troll a little more than a week earlier. I hadn't been at Hogwarts all that long, but even I knew that having a troll marauding through the halls of the school was highly unusual. Everyone else seemed to have recovered from that incident, although I wondered privately whether things were going to continue to be quite that interesting now that Harry Potter would be with us for the next seven years.

He waited now with the rest of his teammates at the edge of the pitch, waiting for the signal so they could take their positions. What the Gryffindors had been thinking, putting a boy that young in the position of Seeker, I was sure I didn't know. As I had been rather late arriving to the field, I was forced to take a seat at the edge of one box, only one row behind Professor Snape, who looked even more thundercloud-ish than usual. I didn't even bother with a greeting, but only pushed past him to perch on the rather uncomfortable wooden bench. Just as well; I wasn't sure he even noticed I was there. Instead, his attention appeared to be focused on the Gryffindor team rather more intensely than the situation seemed to warrant, and on Harry Potter in particular. No doubt he was sending whatever bad thoughts he could muster in the boy's direction so that Gryffindor would lose, and Slytherin march on toward yet another House cup.

With some effort I forced my gaze away from the Potions master and toward the crowd in general, and watched as a rangy youth with an impressive set of dreadlocks commenced with the game's commentary, overseen by a gimlet-eyed Professor McGonagall. I barely recognized him as the scrawny boy who sometimes drifted in the Weasley twins' orbit; some time between his last round of Astronomy lessons and now, he had gained several inches in height, as well as those eye-catching dreads.

But it wasn't his hair that had Minerva's attention, but rather his continuous observations as to the Slytherin team's underhanded behavior, once the game had set to. While we all knew that the Slytherins tended to be somewhat…creative…in their interpretations of the rules, still it was not the game commentator's role to remark upon it. On the other hand, Lee Jordan's comments enlivened what was — to me, at least — a fairly routine endeavor. At least no one had been disemboweled or Splinched yet.

I will admit that my attention wandered somewhat; I regarded the snow on the faraway peaks, along with the clouds that wreathed their crests, and pondered whether we would have snow the next day, or possibly the day after. I admired the banner the Gryffindor team had set up, with its letters in ever-changing colors, and wondered who had had the talent to cast that tricky spell. Most likely the ever-competent Ms. Granger, as I couldn't think who else amongst the Gryffindor cohorts might have that facility. A girl to watch, that one, even though I knew she probably would spend no more time in the Astronomy classroom than she had to. The place to advance oneself was in Transfigurations or Charms, or possibly even Potions, not in a discipline that veered just a little too close to Muggle science for most young wizards' and witches' tastes.

Then the crowd roared, and I jerked my attention back to the Quidditch pitch. There was a tremendous scrum, so that I couldn't quite make out exactly what was going on, but I did notice that the Potter boy was having a difficult time controlling his broom, which was more than a little odd. I will admit that I do not know all the intricacies of the game (nor do I wish to), but even I knew that a broom should not have been bucking like a horse in an old Hollywood Western. And then I saw the indomitable Miss Granger racing toward our section of the grandstand, only to fly at Severus Snape.

What followed was, of course, a muddle, but I did notice that she pushed Professor Quirrell out of the way like a determined little missile. He went flying, but even as he fell into the row of bystanders behind him, I saw him clutch the turban he wore to his head, as if concerned that it might be knocked awry. If I had been in his place, I would have been more concerned as to the condition of my knees, but he stumbled into the laps of several shocked Ravenclaw seventh years, who immediately reached out to catch him. As for Professor Snape, blue fire suddenly burned around his feet and calves, and he turned his attention to putting out the unexpected flames.

Without even realizing it, I jumped to my feet and began to move toward Snape, but before I could take more than a few steps, the flames were gone as suddenly as they had come, and the crowd erupted in a huge cheer. I looked up, and saw Harry Potter circling the field, holding the Snitch aloft triumphantly in one hand.

"Does that even count?" I heard one of the Ravenclaw girls say.

"Well, he did catch it," responded her friend with a shrug.

"But in his _mouth_?"

Another shrug, and then the girls began to giggle, and left their seats so they could join the triumphant Gryffindors on the field. They had no stake in this contest, of course, as it had been between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but even back in my day the Slytherins had tended to keep to themselves, and so the other Houses naturally tended to side with one another as long as no direct competition was involved.

I felt like shrugging myself, but instead I stepped over the last bench that separated us and asked Professor Snape, "Are you quite all right, Professor?"

"Of course I am all right!" he snapped, twitching his robes into place. "Stupid first year pranks. I will speak to Minerva about it."

"A first year cast that charm?" I inquired…quite disingenuously, I will admit, for of course I had already guessed that the accomplished Ms. Granger was the most likely culprit.

He made no direct response, but only sent me another one of those baleful black glares, fully as dark as the robes he wore. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, no doubt in search of Professor McGonagall.

I managed to repress a sigh and instead turned to Professor Quirrell, who stood a few paces away, nervously running his hands over the turban he wore. "And you, Professor? I fear your knees might have suffered a beating!"

"Oh — oh, no," he replied, and somehow managed to lower his hands and secret them within the folds of his robes. "Mere youthful exuberance, I have no doubt!"

"Some might call it that." I glanced past his shoulder to the rapidly disappearing form of Professor Snape, who bore down on Minerva McGonagall like some kind of avenging angel. "Still, that was a nasty knock you took. Are you sure you don't want Madam Pomfrey to take a look?"

"No!" he burst out, and then hesitated, looking somewhat abashed. Then again, he had rather rabbity features, and always appeared rather discomfited. "That is, you are t - too kind, Professor Sinistra. I am quite well."

There being nothing else I could do, I merely lifted my shoulders and smiled. "Very well, Professor Quirrell. Quite the match, don't you think?"

"Yes, quite," he agreed, obviously relieved that I had turned the subject to something less controversial. "Then again, I want to see what happens when Ravenclaw is matched against Gryffindor. It should be quite the game!"

I recalled then that he was a Ravenclaw as well, although he had been five years ahead of me. We had shared no classes — shared nothing at all, really, save an allegiance to our House.

But I also guessed he wanted nothing from me save a facile agreement, and so I nodded and said, "Yes, I am looking forward to that one."

He offered me his own quick, uneasy smile, and then took himself off at a pace that would have been unseemly if anyone else save me had been watching. The students had already swarmed out of the stands, and Snape, Quirrell, and I had been the only professors in this particular section of the audience. I waited there, quite alone, and watched as he disappeared into the crowd — but not before his hand crept up one last time to touch the turban, as if he were still not sure it had survived the encounter completely intact.

I frowned as I watched him, wondering why on earth he should be so obsessed with a foolish piece of purple fabric.

* * *

Christmas that year was an odd one. I was under no obligation to stay at Hogwarts, of course; most of the teachers went their separate ways during the winter hols, although there were some who always stayed on at the school, whether out of a sense of duty or because they simply had nowhere else to go. Professor Snape was one of the latter, I noticed. And although I had told my mother I would be home to spend Christmas Eve through Boxing Day with her, as the time approached I felt more and more loath to leave, although I could not have said exactly why I wished to stay at Hogwarts when I had family waiting for me.

At length I sent her an owl explaining that I was needed at the school, and that I would not be able to make it home after all. A surge of guilt struck me almost as soon as the owl winged its way forth from the tower through the snow-laden clouds, but it was too late to recall the bird. I tried to tell myself that she would not be alone — she had her sister to stay with, as well as my cousin Lilianne, who had just given birth to her first child. The baby would occupy my mother, I guessed, although it would also most likely cause her to send me at least two or three letters repining upon my childless state and expanding upon her worries that she would never be a grandmother.

But that I would deal with when the time came. After all, I was still very young, and witches tended to have their children later in life, although a trend had taken hold during the sway of the Dark Lord for wizarding couples to bear their children at an early age, as a sort of guarantee that their line would continue, even if He Who Should Not Be Named somehow managed to snuff the parents out.

All that was a foolish worry, though, as the Dark Lord had been vanquished, and we lived in a time of relative quiet and prosperity. At any rate, I felt no pangs over my current childless state; indeed, after a day spent handling bored first years, I sometimes wondered whether I would ever have the will to procreate. Not that I would ever admit such traitorous thoughts to my mother — I would never hear the end of it.

Charity Burbage at least had stayed on, and we had a few more cozy chats by the fireplace up in my chambers. By then, of course, it was far too cold to sit out of doors, and the steps up to the Astronomy Tower had to be treated with my best de-icing spell, but she did not seem to mind the trek.

"There's something about it, being so warm inside while the wind howls past the windows," she told me one night, as we sipped butterbeer and ruminated on all that had passed during the previous term.

I agreed that there was, and then said, "But eventually you will have to open the door and brave the outside."

"True, true," she laughed. "At least during the holidays you don't have a group of miserable first years out there waiting for you."

Perhaps that was why I had stayed on — to experience the novelty of a school for wizards almost utterly devoid of students. Of course there were always a few who stayed behind, the ones who also had no place to go, or who chose to stay for reasons of their own. Harry Potter was one of them; through the staff grapevine I had gleaned enough information so that I knew his aunt and uncle had been quite neglectful of him, and that he would rather stay here at school than go home to share their dubious company. His friend remained as well, although I knew that the one thing the Weasleys were rich in was children. I guessed that Ron had stayed so that his friend would not be alone.

Would that my reasons were so simple. If asked, I supposed I would have come up with a facile excuse for my presence, but the truth was that no one did inquire. Perhaps we were all viewed as sad cases, the ones who lingered in Hogwarts' halls at a time when most were enjoying the company of family and other loved ones.

Severus Snape was, of course, one of those who stayed. Indeed, I would have been shocked to learn that he had family and friends who might take him in, so prickly and off-putting was his general mien. The previous year, my first at the school, I had dutifully trotted back to London, but now I had a chance to observe the good Professor at close hand, quite unencumbered by the presence of any students.

If I had hoped for any change in his aspect or personality once the students were gone, I would have been sorely disappointed. As it was, I had already surmised that Severus Snape would not be materially different, students or no, and so it was. He glowered at me in the halls, and ignored me at dinner. But since the formal seating arrangements were quite dispensed with during the holidays, this mattered little to me; Charity and I sat next to one another and chattered away about lesson plans and shopping trips to Hogsmeade, while he sat there, black-browed as always, and exchanged a few curt words with Professor Dumbledore.

While the rest of the student body might be enjoying a holiday, and a good portion of the faculty as well, my favorite poltergeist had not given himself a break simply because it was Christmas. Indeed, he had apparently decided to make even more of a nuisance of himself, flitting about the Great Hall and disturbing the ornaments on the trees Hagrid had so carefully set out. A sharp word from Dumbledore sent him packing, however, and I hoped we had seen the last of him for the evening.

It being Christmas Eve, we had all made ourselves a bit more merry than we should, due to a few bottles of elf-made wine that the Headmaster had produced to go with our goose. I was feeling more than a little elevated as I bade Charity a good evening and then walked with what I hoped were sedate steps toward the corridor that led toward the Astronomy Tower.

Professor Snape had disappeared some time earlier; I must confess that I had not seen him leave the table. So I was more than a little surprised when I almost collided with him when I reached the stairway that led up to my tower.

"Professor," I said, as that seemed the simplest thing to do. I wouldn't presume to inquire as to what he was doing there. The entrance to his dungeons lay in almost precisely the opposite direction.

"Professor," he acknowledged, with just the slightest jerk of his chin.

And perhaps that is where matters might have remained, if it had not been for Peeves materializing a scant foot above our heads. He cackled wildly and said, "Not so fast!"

We both looked up. His diminutive man-shaped form hovered in the air, brandishing a small bit of greenery. I squinted up at him, and then experienced a sudden sinking sensation in my midsection as I realized what he held was a piece of mistletoe. Oh, dear…

I saw Professor Snape's brow crease, and said quickly, "Peeves, this is not the time — "

"Oh, it is the time!" he cut in, his sharp features bright with anticipation. "'Tis the season, after all! Kiss her, Professor!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape replied, in tones that would have quelled even the Weasleys.

Peeves, however, appeared to be a different matter. "You can't fight the mistletoe, Professor. Kiss her! Kiss he — awk!"

Somehow Severus Snape's fist had shot out and caught the unfortunate poltergeist around the throat. How he managed such a thing, when I would have said Peeves wasn't even corporeal, I cannot say, but my eyes convinced me that the unruly spirit was now well and truly confined.

"Any second thoughts?" Professor Snape asked, his voice a silky drawl.

"I — ah — " Peeves coughed, and dropped the mistletoe. "I was just going!"

And he disappeared, dissolving from within Snape's fist like a potions experiment gone wrong. We were left alone in the corridor, as I suddenly found something very interesting on the toes of my boots.

"Good night, Professor Sinistra," Professor Snape said, as formally as if we'd just met for the first time.

I looked up then, at his cold black eyes, the compressed line of his mouth. My gaze lingered there, just for a second, as some perverse part of my brain wondered what it would have felt like to have those thin, firm lips touching mine. Insanity, of course. I decided to blame it on the elf-made wine.

"Good night, Professor," I replied evenly, and mounted the stairs with as much dignity as I could muster. Somehow I managed to keep myself from glancing back over my shoulder to see if he watched my progress. Somehow I made it all the way up without tripping, no thanks to the heady liquor Professor Dumbledore had poured so lavishly during the feast.

At that moment, I wondered if staying at Hogwarts for the holidays had been such a good idea after all…


End file.
